"Stop," I interrupt, gripping his shirt tighter. "I don't care about why you shouldn't. I care about why you did it."
He stares at me, jaw tight. "I'm not the type of man who explains his actions."
"Try."
There's a long pause. I can see him wrestling with it, with himself. Then he lets out a breath.
"If you want to know so bad, I couldn't resist you. There's something about you that keeps calling to me, and I'm done denying it." His eyes lock onto mine. "But if you don't feel the same, I'll respect that. I'll take you home as soon as the road's clear, and we'll forget this happened."
I can see his fists clenching at his sides, knuckles white. This man. This absolute idiot of a man. Of course I feel it. Of course I want to know what's so special between us, want to see where this could go.
I step forward and punch him in the chest. Not hard, but enough to make my point.
"We could have been kissing this whole time if you weren't so stuck up," I say.
He blinks. His mouth opens slightly, and then he actually shoots back, "I'm not stuck up. I just need to be sure about everything."
"Are you sure now?"
"I'm sure about kissing you." His voice drops lower. "About wanting more of this."
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. "I'm sure too."
I smile, and something in his expression awakens. Something wild and hungry breaks free.
He scoops me up with one hand. One hand, like I weigh nothing, while his other hand pulls a few strands of hair away from my face with a gentleness that shouldn't be possible from someone so big.
Then he's carrying me.
Down the short hallway to his bedroom. It's sparse, like the rest of the cabin. A big bed with dark blue sheets. A bedside table with a lamp. A wardrobe. Nothing else. No pictures, no decoration, nothing personal except the bed itself.
He lays me down on it and I don't say a word. I'm curious to see what a man like him will do. What it looks like when Eli Cross lets himself want something.
He doesn't disappoint.
He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself over me, and kisses me again. Deep and thorough, like he's memorizing the taste of me. Then his mouth moves to my ear, his beard scraping against my skin in a way that makes me shiver.
"I'm going down on you," he murmurs, his voice rough and dark. "And I won't stop until you can't take it anymore."
Fuck.
I gulp, my mouth suddenly dry, and my hands are already moving to the buttons of his flannel shirt before his hands even get there. I need it off. Need to feel his skin.
"You in a hurry?" he asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
"Shut up," I say playfully.
He has no idea. I'm dripping wet already, soaked through my panties, and he's about to get a very big surprise.
His hands join mine, helping me out of the shirt. Then he's working on the sweatpants, sliding them down my hips, over my thighs, until they're gone and I'm lying there in nothing but my beautiful black lace panties.
I'm so fucking glad I wore these today.
His eyes darken as he takes me in. Then he moves lower, settling between my legs, and starts kissing along my inner thighs. Soft, teasing touches that make my breath hitch.
I bite my lower lip, resisting the urge to grab his hair and pull him where I want him. He's taunting me, testing me, seeing how I'll react.
But I'm not giving him the satisfaction. Not yet.
